iM Tangled Up In You
by twowritehands
Summary: Glimpses into the lives of Carly and Gibby show how hopelessly tangled they are. Think of those pictures made of hundreds of tinier pictures. This is like that. Spans from playgrounds to weddings. background seddie
1. Chapter 1

The first time he kissed her, it was an accident, an honest-to-god accident. It wasn't on her lips, was on her shoulder, but it was definitely a kiss. It made the smacking sound and everything. Picture a playground, fifth graders running amok, a blond girl threatening to beat up a fat boy. He hid behind a small, dark-haired friend. Safe. But he managed to trip, take her down with him in a tumble down a grassy hill. At the bottom, she was on her back on top of him and her shoulder was against his mouth. SMACK.

He counted it.

…

…

…

Carpooling to Sunshine Girls, it's next door to Karate. Mom wasn't ready, they came in for a sec. Weird having girls from school seeing the living room, his baby-pictures hanging up. He didn't know what to say. The other kids stood close together, didn't say anything either.

He sat in the front so he wouldn't have to sit squished against strangers.

Carly Shay said a boy's name. Mom got all giggly; then the car filled with girly shrieks, laughter, blushes. Mom was talking about clothes, makeup. Mom didn't talk about that stuff. Mom talked about baseball, Pokemon.

What was happening?

…

…

…

Hers wouldn't fly. Everyone else's was flying, but not hers. Tears pricked sixth grade eyes. She was too old to cry about stupid paper airplanes. She sat on the side, watched her classmates' planes zoom around. There was one that made it all the way around the room before gliding in at her feet.

Written on the side were the words US AIR FORCE. She picked it up, looked at it.

"It's my dad's plane." Gibby explained.

"So's mine," A neater hand labeled her flightless plane the same.

He showed her how to fold the wings so that it flew.

…

…

…

He had a wallet. Not a lot of seventh-graders actually had wallets. No need. No credit cards, no license. His had stick gum, a medical alert card—diabetic—and a picture: a man who looked like him, but bigger, and a boy who was him, but littler.

"Me 'n dad," he said, "Before the divorce."

She looked at the picture, looked sad, didn't meet his eye. "My mom didn't even stick around for a picture."

"Oh,"

She handed the wallet back. Bored, no Sam to play with today.

"Gum?"

"Nah,"

He jerked a thumb down the grassy hill. "Swing?"

"Okay."

…

…

…

Three kids in his class were doing a web show now. That was so cool. It was hilarious. They were popular. The girls were pretty: the blond bully, the nice girl. The guy holding the camera was cool, the best long-divider on the math team. Gibby liked watching the show, liked knowing what all the kids in homeroom were talking about when they recounted their favorite parts the next day in school. He liked it more when they invited him to do the show with them, to be funny, too.

It was kind of like having a lot of friends.

…

…

…

Gibby looked forward to the afternoon every day. He knew he didn't need to let his bullies matter, but that wasn't as easy as it sounded. Bullies were bullies because they were good at it. _Give 'em the boot_. Move on. Have some fun with friends. Problem was he didn't have that many friends. Not until those three started looking out for him, started waiting for him outside after school.

"Hi Gibby,"

"Hey, man,"

"Walk with us, Gib."

Sam was mean to him, but not always. Freddie talked to him like a person. Carly smiled at him. He liked afternoons.

…

…

…

The dog's bark was loud, startling. Carly shrieked as the golden retriever bounded straight for them. "Is that you're dog?" Sam asked.

"Never saw it before in my life," Gibby said, dropping his backpack on the sidewalk as the runaway dog reached them. There was no collar, no tag. It put its forepaws on Gibby's chest, licking eagerly at his face, whining.

"She likes you," Freddie smirked as Gibby bumped noses with her.

Carly laughed, gave the stray a pat. "I think she's begging you to take her home."

"Sorry," he said to the dog, "I don't go for blondes."

…

…

…

It was a game to get him a date with the girl he liked, live on the internet. Sure. Whatever. Sounds fun. Kind of. Number one was cute the way she played with the voice changer before introducing herself. Number two's introduction was boring. Number three was gone. That one was Sam anyway. Number one must be giving honest answers saying stuff like that. Number two was boring with predictable answers. Number one was hilarious. Number two was too sweet.

"I pick number one!"

"Yay!" Number one cried, then "Wait—What? WHAT?"

Oh, number one was _Carly_. Huh. That's… okay.

…

…

…

The root and berries retreat. Ugh. She wanted to die. It was cold and wet and crowded in this stupid tent. Thank god it was time to sleep, so the flute-playing stopped. She was sandwiched between Wendy and Tasha. She sat up.

The rain had stopped. Maybe she could go out and get some air.

"No!"

It was Gibby, crammed into the corner of the tent. He mumbled indistinct things then cried, "Help!" and sat straight up. Awake.

They looked at each other with wide eyes for a moment.

"Nightmare," he explained.

"Oh,"

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay,"

"'Night,"

"…'Night,"

…

…

…

First impressions are hard to break. Gibby broke his pretty easily, though. First, she thought he was weird, was uncomfortable to be around him. It took a while, but eventually she realized his many peculiarities weren't so bad. In fact, she loved them. He lived by No Such Thing As A Stupid Question. He showed enthusiasm when he felt it. He was not prejudice against things to be enthusiastic about. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, had powerful emotions.

He was sweet, loyal, funny—to be fair not _on purpose_, but funny none-the-less.

He wasn't weird. He was Gibbeh.


	2. Chapter 2

The show was a regular circus. Carly was the ringleader. Gibby was the prize freak. The Boy Who Will Do Anything. She always admired it. Sometimes she wondered if he only did it to have friends. Not that they wouldn't be his friend if he didn't do every stupid thing they asked of him but… Sometimes it seemed that way, since he was rarely around unless they were doing the show.

She frowned. There was no reason for that to be the case. She stopped him before he turned down his street,

"Wanna come over for spaghetti tacos with us?"

…

…

…

"What'cha hummin'?" she asked. She couldn't place it. "I don't think I've heard that song before."

"My theme song," he said matter-of-factly.

She laughed. "You have a theme song? Since when?"

"Since forever."

"How's it go?"

He taught it to her. She could hit the right notes, made it sound better. Her voice was amazing. He didn't know she could sing.

"You want it?" he asked. She was surprised. "Really?"

"For the show, ya'know?"

She sang it again, under her breath, killed it with a smile. "I love it!"

The show had her name, now it had his song.

…

…

…

Birds-of-paradise were cool. Normal looking—then with a sudden flip that bent space-time continuums, feathers fanned out into breathtaking colors and odd shapes. Carly had an odd sense of humor, so that was her weird shape. And she could sing but rarely did, her scarlet feathers.

Yeah, she was a bird-of-paradise.

Galapagos Turtles were cool. Big turtles—_huge—_and the species in which Darwin first recognized Survival-of-the-Fittest. Gibby'd always been the heaviest, and after puberty, the tallest too. Started high school a nerd, but evolved into a Gibby, something everyone secretly wanted to be.

Yeah, he was a Galapagos Turtle.

…

…

…

She _liked_ bad-boys? That was not comforting. Griffin. What was up with that? Was that his first name or his last name? Oh, it was his first name. So he had cool parents who didn't saddle their sons with names like Clifford Cornelius Gibson. Whatever. It happens.

Yikes. That was what he _looked_ like? That wasn't what a bad boy looked like. Where were the tattoos, scars, and piercings? This was a pretty-boy with a bad-boy attitude. He was too symmetrical, too hard and tan, too perfect. He needed flaws. There was nothing interesting-looking about him. Nothing thought-provoking.

Nothing Gibby.

…

…

…

She got shrill, bossy, when she was stressed. She stressed over random things, too. Like homework. He understood, but really, why was a grade _that_ big of a deal? Her value was more than a silly grade.

Or rehearsals for the show. They were naturals, her and Sam. She could _relax_. It wouldn't be the death of her if things went as horribly wrong as she was sure they could go. She was smart, strong. She'd survive whatever life threw at her. He made her sit. Breathe. He rubbed her shoulders, felt her relax under his touch.

She sighed. "Oh, yeeeeaaahh,"

…

…

…

Spencer got the table from the junk yard, made it work again. It was old, from that ancient era of the 80s. It hummed loudly when it came on. Carly snatched up the red plastic hand things, threw one at him. He caught it, thank god. It made him feel cool. Maybe it looked cool.

"Play with me, Gib!" she cried tossing the puck down onto the table where it glided silently across the surface.

"It's ON!" he bellowed. He pulled off his shirt and the game began. She was good. He was better. She won and danced.

He smiled.

…

…

…

Sam and Freddie fell behind when she tripped him, pinned him to the sidewalk. Carly kept walking, in a hurry to get to work cleaning juice ports for T-Bo. She was quiet, no smiles, no laughing since that fire. Gibby stayed with her, wanted to try to cheer her up before they reached his street and had to part ways.

He saw it in the tree before she did. He ran ahead, leapt, and caught the string. She hadn't even noticed he'd charged ahead until he held the blue balloon out to her.

"Congratulations. It's a boy."

She smiled, laughed.

…

…

…

"Where'd'we put the trampoline?"

"What trampoline?" Spencer asked brushing saw dust from his hands.

"She doesn't have a trampoline?"

"No." Freddie laughed as he reloaded the nail gun.

"Oh," Gibby frowned. Chatting on line with her at night and stuff, she always said she was going to jump into bed. He'd always taken it literally, thought she had a little trampoline beside her bed. "Well, maybe we should get her one—right here. Then she can jump into bed."

"Hey, that's cool," Sam said, "let's do it."

"She'll love it!"

Later she laughed as she jumped, "Thanks for the trampoline!"

…

…

…

Gibby dropped down into his seat at the table with a still-hot chocolate chip cookie the size of his face in a napkin. "Gibbeh got the last one, scutters!" he cried triumphantly. Sam, who was already halfway through hers, cheered for him. Carly slumped.

"Ah man. I wanted a giant cookie."

He shrugged heavy shoulders, broke his in half. The chocolate chips stretched in gooey deliciousness as he handed it over. She took it with surprise and for a moment, fragile strings of sweet chocolate connected the two teenagers, and her brown eyes met his green. Then the strands broke.

…

…

…

"Man," Gibby sighed loudly, flopping, shirtless, onto the couch in her room. "Your place is supposed to be NOT BORING, Carly."

"Since when did this become the Designated Not Boring Place?"

"Uh, since forever, Carls," Sam answered.

"Yeah," Freddie said, "This is where we hang out."

Gibby rolled off the couch, went to the trampoline. "Someone count how many times I can jump on this thing on my hands."

"You'll get hurt."

"Nah,"

One. Two. Three. CRASH.

"I told you you'd get hurt!" she cried. Her hands were cool on his shoulder, massaging the injury. It was completely worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

RANDOM DANCING! the big voice boomed.

Gibby let loose. Carly shrieked in laughter as she began bouncing around. Sam started flipping her hair back and forth and Freddie stopped looking in the lens of the camera to watch her. As the guest-stars on the show began doing robot moves, Gibby's big hands closed around Carly's and suddenly, they were dancing together. The lights were low and colorful strobes were flashing. He was doing some smooth hip-hop moves, which she mirrored. He was a good dancer.

His big frame and her little one moved well together to the music.

Gibby Dance.

…

…

…

Abstractly, it could have been a baby deer. With your head titled sideways, it looked a little more like an owl. It was supposed to be a baby elephant.

"Wow, Gib." Sam said.

Freddie smirked. "Never thought it would've been possible."

Gibby smiled proudly at his work of art. "Ya like it?"

They laughed, shook their heads.

"You're worse than Carly!"

"Have you ever even _seen_ an elephant?"

"I have Elephant Love on DVD!"

"Then how is _that_ an elephant?"

"How's it _not_ an elephant?"

"Guys," Carly cut in sternly. "If we can't play nice I'm taking up the crayons."

…

…

…

"Wanna do the science project with me?"

He looked around. Yeah, she was talking to him. "I'd love to!" he bellowed.

She liked him as a partner, he didn't put the work off on her, enthusiastically gave his own ideas, made her laugh. He was disorganized, but so was everyone in Carly's eyes. He didn't tease her when she suggested note cards.

He liked her as a partner. She was smart, nice. She laughed at his jokes…

But then she spent the whole Lock-In running around with Sam or Freddie, asked him to mop up vomit.

So just friends.

…

…

…

Kelsey was hot. She had long legs and satisfying curves. She bumped into them outside the Inside Out Burger. She threw her arms around Gibby and kissed his cheek, prattled on about how she missed him. They talked for a moment and then she was on her way. They watched her go. Freddie gaped at their friend. Carly didn't.

"HOW?" Freddie screeched. Gibby was taller but he was FATTER! "_How_ do you get a girl like that and _I_ can't?"

Gibby shrugged, tossed a look around then said lowly, "The secret's in the cuddling."

"The cuddling?" Freddie echoed.

"The cuddling."

…

…

…

He never took his shirt off anymore. Carly didn't notice until he wore a shirt in the pool once. She asked about it. He waved it off, made excuses. She didn't buy it. She dropped it, though. Then she happened to see him changing shirts. It was the same old Gibby-gut under there until he turned. She saw his other side, a puckered pink line three inches long in his skin; surgical scar.

He saw her see it, pulled his shirt down over the flawed Gibby-skin, looked away, "Appendicitis,"

"You should go shirtless again."

"Nah,"

"You should, scars are cool."

…

…

…

They were left together because everyone wanted to win Pictionary, and staying away from the bad artists was a sure way to do it. It was Carly's turn to draw clues for Gibby.

Everyone smirked and frowned as she drew; they didn't have a clue. Gibby huffed, "Peas in a pod," he said.

Carly blinked and looked from him to her drawing and back, "Yes!"

Gibby sprang to his feet, gave her a high five. Then it was his turn to draw. She totally knew what his scribbles meant. They were going to win.

Two bad artists made a right.

…

…

…

It was tomorrow, the test. They were studying late—had spent the week dealing with the show, not the study guides. They needed to cram. The library was quiet. Sam snuck food in, fell asleep with it in her mouth. Carly leaned across the table to nudge her friend awake. When she did, her shirt came up, showed Gibby her lower back between peach-colored shirt and black low-rider jeans. White lace band was the edge of her panties.

Gibby gulped, glanced up, and saw Freddie look away from the sight as well.

Gibby failed the test, but remembered the panties.

…

…

…

Gibby won Guppy a giant gorilla at the basketball hoops. His little brother jumped up and down excitedly until he got his hands on it, then he held it over his head and ran around cheering.

Gibby laughed, then his eye caught a young couple nearby. The girl was holding a panda, kissing the guy. He knew them both from algebra. As Guppy lead him over to the bumper cars, Gibby found himself picturing how Carly would smile, jump around and laugh while he was winning her a panda. She'd be cute, hugging it to her chest. He'd feel good.

…

…

….

Gibbeh: What're you doing up this late?

WebShowHost: Oh, hi! I just can't sleep. You?

Gibbeh: I'm a night owl. Any reason you can't sleep?

WebShowHost: Just too much thinking

Gibbeh: About what?

WebShowHost: Just teenaged life stuff

Gibbeh: Know how that goes. Wanna distraction?

WebshowHost: Yes please!

Gibby was good at distractions, peeling back the layers of his weirdness as he told her whacky stories about random things. If ever she couldn't sleep, she would just hop on-line. Gibby would be on, and would be sure to make her laugh until she was tired enough to sleep.

Gibby Nights.

…

…

…

Junk Spencer'd hauled in for a sculpture had been filled with bugs. Gross bugs, different kinds. Home needed fumigation. Charlotte was out of town. Grandpa shouted it was okay. Spencer could bunk with Gibby in his room. Charlotte wouldn't mind Carly staying in hers.

Up in the night to pee, a large shadow in the kitchen made her pee early, a squirt, a yelp.

"Sorry," stepping into the light. He was in boxers. His toes were hairy. Hers were painted blue. His eyes went from them up to her shoulder hanging out of her big t-shirt.

He smiled. "Sleep tight, Carly."


	4. Chapter 4

Boy thoughts. He was glad girls couldn't read his mind. It'd freak them out. The things he thought about sometimes freaked _him_ out. They were nothing deeply horrible—just nothing pure, either. They were incredibly shallow and filthy, actually.

He tried not to let himself go there. Thoughts eventually become actions and no one he knew would do the things he thought about. Wait until after high school, College Girls were more open-minded.

Sometimes he found himself picturing Carly as an open-minded college girl. He stamped on those thoughts, berated himself as a creep. But sometimes he couldn't help it.

…

…

…

She went for guys like Sean the kinda-handsome dork in AV, the senior Gary Wolfe, or the "bad-boy" Griffin. Pretty guys, smooth, and cool. Not Gibbies. Not that he wasn't smooth, or cool—he was. He had his share of salmon swimming upstream for him these days, so his doughy physique and Gibbiness were attractive enough.

But it was clear from the lineup that she went for gorgeous. He couldn't blame her; he went for gorgeous, too. That was why liked her.

But she didn't go for Gibbies, so it was crazy to keep thinking about her like this.

…Right?

…

…

…

Her desk was empty in science class. "Where's Carly?"

His friends traded looks, Sam answered, "Denver."

"What's she doing in Colorado?"

Sam looked at Freddie, he answered lowly, so nosey classmates wouldn't hear. "Her mom is in the hospital there. Wanted to see her once before…" his voice trailed off.

Gibby's stomach dropped, like a bowling ball released on the back swing.

The next time he saw her, her eyes looked heavy, weak. She smiled, but didn't at the same time.

"You okay?'

Her limp trembled. She shook her head. "Now I _really_ don't have a mom!"

He hugged her.

…

…

…

She really needed a hug. She would be getting a lot in the next few days. Besides her family, his was the first. It was a big hug, a close hug. He let her hang on for a while, patted her back. It felt nice here.

He smelled of soap, something flowery. Heh. Only Gibby could pull off a flowery scent. Her heart was broken, but she was smiling. His scent alone could make her smile. That was a true friend if there ever was one.

"You're a good hugger." She sniffed, pulling away.

"Thanks," he chuckled, "come back anytime."

…

…

…

It wasn't like her to break rules, to get up to mischief, but she hadn't been the same since seeing her mom. Apparently, she could've known the woman all her life, but her father had been telling her to stay away.

"Better that way," Spencer'd explained, "we didn't want you to see her promise she'd stop and then keep drinking."

All Carly heard was that they took her mother from her. A bad mother would've been better than no mother at all. Sam stuck with her, kept her out of trouble too big for her. If not Sam, Gibby would've.

…

…

…

Gibby got a ride to the emergency room with Freddie. They found Carly with her arm in a fresh cast, Sam talking to a cop in the corner.

"Heeeeey," Carly drawled upon seeing her friends. Gibby smelled alcohol when he got too close.

"What happened?" Freddie demanded.

"Crashed her bike," Sam said with a friendly farewell to the cop.

"Bicycling under the influence?" Freddie smirked.

"Imma bad ass!" Carly slurred, tried to throw her arms in the air and then yelped when it hurt her arm.

"Are you still drunk?"

"No, that's the pain meds," Sam said. Carly passed out.

…

…

…

The scar on her arm was kinda jagged, kinda badass.

It'd be a permanent reminder—a memory of the sign.

Waking up in pain, with a bloody shirt because bone actually came _through_ the skin of her forearm, had been horrible. She had rolled over to see the picture of her mom on her nightstand, tried to reach for it, dropped it when gripping the frame hurt like a butter-roll. The glass broke.

That was all the sign she needed to stop the wild behavior; she loved her mother, but she didn't want to be her, or die like her.

…

…

…

"Are you _completely_ sure about this?"

"Yes," what was it to them, anyway?

"It's gonna be permanent."

"That's the point!"

"Your skin'll get old and saggy and it'll look _gross_."

"Shut up, I'm doing it."

It'd hurt. A lot. No backing out, though. Rebellion stung, but looked good.

He found it later, hadn't been part of it, knew nothing of it. Her arm was broken. He braided her hair for her, the only guy she knew who could. His fingers pulled her hair back lightly, his thumbs brushed the inked skin. "I spy daisies," he said.

"Flowers for my mom."

…

…

…

They were laughing. She was ticklish.

"Hold still."

She tried, shook with mirth. He dusted lavender, gently blew the brush-tip. "Ready?"

She nodded, closed an eye. Mouth open, tongue between teeth, it took all his focus to paint the make-up onto her left eye. She giggled again. Left eye done, now the right eye.

Done. He presented the hand mirror. "TA-DA!"

She laughed. His face fell. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! It's perfect!"

She snatched the mirror out of his hands, had a closer look at his work, shook her head, smiled. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Prob'ly not."

…

…

…

He actually looked pretty good in a dress, because the dress was made for one of his stature and he wore it proudly. It also brought out the green of his eyes and went well with his skin tone. He spoke in a high thin voice, put on a French accent, made it work. Standing next to Sam, Carly, and Wendy in the mock beauty pageant, he didn't look _too_ out of place. Or maybe it was just Carly.

Then they were clear. The illusion was ruined when he cheered loudly in his natural, deep voice.

Carly frowned. Whoa, _manly_.


	5. Chapter 5

"What's that?"

Gibby closed the mead notebook on his pen, shrugged," Nothing, just my journal."

Carly grinned, raised an eyebrow. "You keep a journal?"

He shrugged again, looked embarrassed. She shrugged, too. "Cool."

Class began, but Carly couldn't stop thinking about that journal. What did he write about anyway?

The notion of Gibby having _thoughts_ intrigued her. Not that she thought he was stupid, but he seemed too laid back to be overly-pensive about anything. She supposed he did have a steady stream of girlfriends…

A thought struck her and made her double look him.

Could Gibby be—a _romantic_?

…

…

…

With the shiny metal glinting around his wrists, he whirled, went to his toes to crane over the crowd gathering outside the Groovy Smoothie to see her, "Call my mom!" he bellowed. It sounded weird because his nose was broken. His shirt was bloody. One cop opened the back door of his car. Gibby climbed in. The other bloody guy got in another car.

The crowd, still recounting the fight, dispersed. T-Bo complained as he picked up broken bits of his chairs while an employee mopped up smoothies and blood.

Carly's heart was hammering; _Gibby was a_ _bad boy_ _now_.

…

…

…

He'd mentioned pounding a few guys into the dirt before. She'd never taken it seriously. It was Gibby. All talk. So when she saw him break two of a guy's ribs before bloodying his nose over a girl, it was—exhilarating. She'd never seen someone actually defend a girl's honor before. She rarely saw fistfights that weren't on TV. Gibby's reminded her of that awesome MMA fight she'd gone to.

He was stronger than he looked.

She didn't even realize she was daydreaming it, but if he was _her_ boyfriend, he'd fight for _her_ like that. He was so sweet.

…

…

…

He wasn't like the others. He was… soft. Literally. There wasn't just muscle under his shirt like Griffin or Steven… He was still athletic with a punching bag, a baseball bat, but he was _doughy_. She didn't mind, though, because it wasn't his _body_ she liked hanging out with. It was his easy-going, out-side-of-all-boxes thinking. Sometimes his thoughts were ridiculous, his timing odd, and it was hard to know if he meant it seriously or as a joke. There was something she loved about that.

So, yeah, he was _soft_ with _pudge_, but it was okay to like that.

…Right?

…

…

…

Giving her a ride to Yakima, Carly drummed on her thighs in time to the music. Gibby was driving. In the back seat, Guppy impressively sang along with the rapid lyrics. Carly's laugh was happy, innocent, made Gibby's back tingle. She twisted around to sing praises.

Bike!

Tires squealed. Belts locked. The world flipped over, and stayed that way. They were hanging upside down in a highway median. Weeds bowed into broken windows to tickle the roof at their feet. Hearts pounding, stomachs left behind, cuts and bruises, but otherwise okay. They shared an ambulance home.

She held Gibby's hand.

…

…

…

She needed to know how to hit a ball, for a web-show-thing. He had time. She borrowed Sam's baseball bat.

"I'm here, let's practice," she said. He turned, looked her up and down. She was wearing a uniform, white with blue strips, tight knee-high pants, high socks, a baseball cap on her head, her long black hair in a ponytail. He smiled.

He put his arms around her to show how to swing. She understood how after the first demonstration, but did it wrong perfectly.

"I'll show you again," he said. He put strong arms back around her. She smiled.

…

…

…

He had mad skillz with a rubber band. He could wrap it around his finger and thumb, shoot it to make it hit anything. But if you're close enough, it stung when it hit. He didn't mean to hit her—all Sam's fault. It popped Carly in the shoulder. She yelped, skin turning red there.

"Sorry!" he cried, rubbing it. Before he knew it, he was kissing it better.

The second kiss to this shoulder, a little kiss, soft lips to soft skin—didn't even make the kissing-sound—but their eyes met when he did it.

They both counted it.

…

…

…

She'd finally found something he couldn't do.

She could pop a grape into the air, catch it in her mouth with a smile. Every time. Gibby was counting. They were going to run out of grapes before she missed one. Then one rolled under the bed.

She couldn't just leave it. While she was searching down there, he popped three into the air, caught them, had them swallowed before she reemerged with the lost one. Her nose crinkled as she pulled away a strand of hair from it.

She started to throw it away. Gibby stopped her and ate it.

…

…

…

Carly was flipping out. She paced back and forth, her hand on her chest. She was talking a mile a minute, worrying over the fact that their friends were _together_-together now and that meant they'd drop her like a hot potato and she'd be alone. "ALL ALONE, GIBBY!"

"Carly," he tried. She didn't hear him. He tried again and then again until he had to shout it. When that didn't work, he caught her, kissed her on the nose. That stopped her.

"I wanna go out with you."

"You—you do?" she asked, breathless.

"Yeah," he said.

"Yeah, okay, yeah."

…

…

…

She didn't know how to make the announcement. So she didn't. Acted very casual about it. This was something new. Usually she made great big important announcements the moment she had a boyfriend, called a press release. Not this time. It wasn't because she was afraid people would laugh. It _wasn't_.

It just wasn't Gibby's style. That was all.

Then Freddie and Sam wanted to go to a party on Saturday, but she couldn't. She had a date.

"What?" they said. "With who?"

Sam smacked Freddie.

"With….Gibby."

"Gibby?"

She took a leaf from his book, owned it. "Yup."

It worked.


	6. Chapter 6

Of the four, he was the only one who actually knew what he was doing. He bowled with his grandpa and three other old men on a team in a local bowling league. He threw his black ball hard and straight. Strike!

"GIBBEH!" he bellowed, disrupting the whole place. He was given another warning to keep his shirt on.

Freddie high-fived him as he came forward to take his turn. Sam cheered from where she lounged across three seats. Gibby took Freddie's seat next to Carly. She gave him a shy smile. "You rock."

"Thanks," he said, took her hand.

…

…

…

He'd always been her sweetest friend. He got even sweeter as a boyfriend. He complimented new shoes, noticed new hairstyles, had already been in her life so nothing needed to be rearranged to spend time with him. He was funny on top of the sweetness, and generally kind to his core. Carly never saw the same weird guy that others did when she looked at him. She saw strong shoulders, beautiful eyes, good teeth, big arms, all his best qualities, a handsome young man who winked at her and left daisies slid into the lock of her locker every day.

…

…

…

Haunted houses. Carly never cared for them. Gibby thought the world of them. He knew every single one in the area and went to all of them this time of year. Carly preferred carving pumpkins, handing out candy, playing in the fallen leaves.

She went because they were dating and they couldn't just do what she wanted _all_ the time. She'd be okay so long as Gibby stayed close—But suddenly, he was gone.

"GIBBY?"

Something pinched her arm. She screamed, whacked her attacker hard. It was Gibby, being mean. He got what he deserved. Then he got a kiss.

…

…

…

He had a gerbil in a cage in the corner of his room. It was a big cage, clean and tidy. The gerbil was eagerly licking at its little water dispenser. It was black, fat, and cute. Carly opened the top, reached in to stroke it.

"Hey little guy,"

"She's a girl," Gibby corrected, startling Carly. She hadn't noticed he'd returned.

"Her name's Coal. Dad got her for me for Christmas—a joke, getting only Coal for Christmas."

"She's adorable," Carly said.

"She _was_ the cutest girl in the room 'til you came."

He winked. She blushed, giggled, kissed him.

…

…

…

Her skin was porcelain perfection, flawless. He liked when she hung her head back and he could see the skin of her neck go taught from her jaw to her collarbone. If they were alone, he kissed it. When she wore sleeveless shirts, he liked to run his fingers down her arm and back up, just to feel the smoothness, the silkiness. He longed to feel the bare flesh of her stomach, her sides, her chest under his fingertips, could imagine that skin coming to life as her arm's did, puckering up in goose pimples.

Her skin made him sigh.

…

…

…

He was still friends with all the girls of his past, friends with even more girls hoping to be in his future. It was in his nature to be nice to everyone, to be laid back and comfortable with them. She could trust him. She _should_ trust him. She didn't like that she doubted every time she saw him talking to a pretty girl. She'd never been the jealous type before, but that was what he did to her, made her not want to share him.

It sparked their first big fight, which ended with a daisy and "I'm sorry,"

…

…

…

Other boyfriends had said it way before this, and had said it often. She'd always said it back happily. _I love you_, the best three words in the universe. But he hadn't said it yet. She started to, sometimes, but couldn't bring herself to say it. What if he didn't say it back? Sometimes, when he had his arms around her, his lips on hers, she felt stupid for doubting.

So it was time. If she couldn't hear it from him, she wanted to feel it from him. She didn't need to hear it if she could feel it…

Right?

…

…

…

They'd both known the thrills of others first. Granted, it wasn't like she'd become an expert after two reckless goes at it, but he'd had practice enough to get the kinks out. It'd be different this time, though. They were old friends, true friends, dating for two months now.

Even if they broke up, they'd still see each other everyday after this, made it more serious. Young, breathless, barely comprehending what they felt inside, when she looked into his eyes, told him what she wanted, they reached an understanding: They wanted to same thing, and there was nothing stopping them.

…

…

…

Friday, she promised. Spencer wouldn't be home on Friday. He felt weird, waiting for a specific time before heading over to her place—had always only ever been on whims before, nothing so precise. It felt weirder knowing there were no big brothers around. She answered the door looking normal. He might have been there to borrow an SAT book.

But then she took his hand, pulled him upstairs. His heart was pounding. He was getting excited. She was being giggly. He liked her giggly.

Should the door be locked? Home alone, no point. That felt even weirder.

Alone together.

…

…

…

"Say you love me,"

She felt him tense, hesitate, but he didn't stop. Good, she didn't want him to. _So close_. She arched against him, "Just say it!" she snapped, always so bossy when stressed. "It doesn't have to mean anything. I just want to hear it. _Please_."

He'd never said it before. Love was an old thing. He was a young thing, didn't know much about it. But she said please. He couldn't refuse. He waited a few strokes, to bring the moment back. If Gibby knew anything, it was how to please a girl.

"I love you, Carly."


	7. Chapter 7

It was three words she'd been longing to hear, hadn't understood why he'd kept them from her, had forced him to share them. But suddenly, just the way he spoke, they became more than they ever were before. They used to be something she was _supposed_ to say to someone allowed to put their tongue in her mouth… She'd never understood until now.

"I love you, Carly."

She wished she hadn't _made_ him say it. She wished he could've said it on his own and _really_ meant it. Because, god, from him it'd been amazing enough even without being true.

…

…

…

I love you, Carly.

It felt so true it freaked him out. Girls had asked him to say it before and he'd always found a way around it… He had no idea if saying it was what made it feel true or if felt true just because it _was_ true. What did he know? He was just a kid. Was he supposed to know so young? Probably not.

One thing he did, know, though. He wanted to say it again. He wanted to say it again so much it scared him. So he didn't. Not yet. No reason to rush.

…

…

…

"Hey, Gib!" Spencer shouted.

"Spence!" Gib shouted back, "How goes it?'

Spencer hopped down from his ladder, tossed his hair from his face, frowned. "Where's Sam and Freddie?"

Carly shrugged, let Gibby pass her up the stairs, lied, "Freddie's got a dentist appointment and Sam's grounded for throwing a casserole in her mom's boyfriends' face."

"Oh," Spencer shrugged, "Okay."

Gibby was waiting in her room, "Well?"

Carly laughed, "He doesn't have a clue." She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed the last boy her brother would ever guess he needed to be suspicious of.

Gibby liked clueless brothers.

…

…

…

It was like the old dreams where he was flying. No plane, no wings, just flying. The world below, the sky around, the horizon always out of reach. In the dreams, he'd suddenly fall, the ground approaching fast. He'd wake, screaming, mom would hurry in. It always took a song to calm him.

The dreams were long behind, but he felt like he was flying again when shiny pink lips smiled at him, or dark eyes sparkled with laughter. She made him reach for the horizon again. It'd take just one mean word, and he'd be falling to his death.

…

…

…

Carly knew how carefully he avoided saying it, but she'd gotten tired of waiting, asked him to say it once. He had, but they were just words that time and she tried not to let it bother her.

The second time it was in the car, unprovoked but awkward. Then he gave a curt nod afterwards, the silent punctuation mark at the end of a declaration. But she could tell he was scared.

The third time felt like the first time. He said it over the phone. It gave her butterflies and all he said was "Cool, 'night, love you."

…

…

…

She found him in the boy's locker room after a baseball game victory. He heard the wolf whistles and taunts from the others—classic signs of a woman afoot—but didn't turn in time to see who it was before warm fingers covered his eyes.

"Guess who?" she giggled.

"What are you doing in here?"

He felt her lips against his ear, "I just wanted to tell you something." He was on the bench getting out of his cleats. She slid into his lap

"I love you," she said for the first time, killing him wonderfully.

"I love you, too."

…

…

…

Carly panicked when she found an extra day on her girl calendar, bought a pee stick. Whew. Close. Crisis over…until Spencer saw it in the trash.

"WHY WOULD YOU NEED ONE OF THESE? WHO'S THE GUY? WHEN DOES THIS GO ON? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?"

She came clean about Gibby. Spencer would've been cooler about it, but Gib was his friend. It felt like betrayal.

"Dude, she's my little sister!"

"And YOU'RE her brother!"

"What?"

"What?"

"You betrayed me, Gibby."

"How?"

"She's my _sister_!"

"And I'm Gibby! I still don't get it."

Carly laughed. Gibby shrugged. Spencer gave up.

…

…

…

Kinda for a joke, but mostly because it was adorable and she wanted to, they got each other hamsters. They didn't know what Carly's was, because she was uncomfortable checking. Gibby's was a boy (they were kind of interested to see if any girbly-hamsters would come along.) He called his Her Heart and she called hers His. That way when people asked what they gave each other for Christmas, he would say "Carly gave me Her Heart" and Carly would say, " and he gave me His."

It was a magical metaphor until His died. Gibby still loved her, though.

…

…

…

It was a big decision, so it was supposed to be hard to make. But it wasn't, not to them, anyway. Of all the schools they'd applied to, they both got into that one. Loved ones chirped up friendly warnings that schools aren't meant to be chosen that way. That young love is fine, and all of that, but college is hard, people change, and even good things end eventually. Pick a school for _yourselves_, not for _the two of you_.

"Thanks, but I _did_ pick this school for me, Spence."

"Mom, this is the school I'm going to. Period."

…

…

…

She helped him unpack in his dorm room. He was putting up a poster when she turned from filling his sock drawer. It was huge and featured a dark-haired woman in a bikini. He'd had it in his bedroom at home. She'd taken it in stride, but now she put her foot down.

"No,"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like her."

He smirked, "She's not _real_."

"Exactly."

He looked from the poster to her and sighed, rolled it back up, "Fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah, won't need it if you'll be over here a lot." He wagged his eyebrows.

"Deal," she giggled.


	8. Chapter 8

This school was filled with pretty boys sporting "bad boy" attitudes. She went for that. It'd be no time at all before one of them swept in, shirtless and ridged with hard muscle, nothing that jiggled.

Why are you with _him_? They'd ask, then they'd point out his weird face, his fat hairy toes. They'd show her symmetrical smiles and good looking toes. They'd know how to play instruments, would always say the right thing at a party, never ask stupid questions. Then _she'd_ ask why she was with him…

He worried until she kissed the worries away.

"I'm yours."

…

…

…

Words never hurt before. What made them hurt now?

Standing in a dorm-house kitchen, crying, shouting—didn't know what'd started it anymore; just a bunch of small stuff, from adjusting to a new, scarier world away from childhood. Things were supposed to happen suchly. With none of it lining up the world felt lost, spinning out of control. She said stuff, secret stuff she'd been sitting on for a little while. Now he was upset, said his own secret stuff.

Could've seen it coming—when three good words hurt, the bad words killed.

They found two that healed.

"I'm sorry."

…

…

…

The professor lectured on and on about economics. Carly's eyes drooped, sprang back open. A heavy body slid into the seat next to her, late. Knuckles rapped the chain on her wrist.

"That's a nice bracelet," he said lowly, panting.

"Thanks, some guy got it for me."

"Some guy?" he asked.

"One of many, but I keep him around because he's sweet."

"He sounds like one-in-a-million."

"Nah, he's a dime a dozen, really."

"Oh," his face fell.

"I was kidding, Gibby."

"Oh," He laughed. She kissed him. From behind, Freddie groaned, peeled their faces apart. "I'm trying to pay attention!"

…

…

…

She came in January, a month early. Gibby dropped everything and was at the hospital for the delivery, invited Carly to join him. She felt weird at first, an intruder. But Gibby's excitement soon rubbed off on her. When they could see her, all the Gibsons stood in a row, crying as they welcomed the cutest, tiniest baby girl to the world. She couldn't help but cry a little herself. Gibby held his infant sister so gently, looked at her like she was so precious, talked to her so sweetly, that Carly wanted her to be theirs.

_Their_ Gibby baby.

…

…

…

Finals were killing her, the stress making her crazy. Insomnia. Panic attacks. She didn't care to go through another year of this, even after a break. Screw pre-law and college altogether. She'd literally only picked it because she'd had no idea. Nothing seemed appealing. Nothing but comedy.

Didn't need a stupid diploma for the show.

Spencer supported her, kind of. He'd AT LEAST finished four years. Gibby supported her all the way. Dropping out was scary, picking the harder of two roads, but she slept through the night and smiled for most of the day now, his professional web-show host.

…

…

…

She was hosting her very first Thanksgiving diner. Sam helped with the cooking at first, but then fell asleep. Everything was going well, Carly wasn't even stressed, so wasn't being bossy. A nice change, further proof dropping out of college was right for her. She laughed, ran from Gibby's tickles. A big crowd was invited, classmates, dates, family. Most had arrived when someone asked what was burning.

The ham.

Carly cried, not just because of failure, but embarrassment for failing _in front of people_. He found her in the pantry, squeezed in, made her laugh with a Too Soon joke.

…

…

…

They slept with the curtains wide opened, so they could see the stars. Just three of them over the dark shapes of trees lining her apartment building's parking lot, but three chances to make wishes wrapped in each other in the moonlight painting the sheets, her skin, silver. They were young, but alive. They were still learning, but understanding fast that no one else fit so well.

He imagined moonlight actually felt like her skin. Here in the secret magic of it all she made the confession, softly in his ear, "I want to make a baby with you now."

…

…

…

She said waiting seemed pointless. He said she'd never had much patience. She didn't know what he meant by that. He said never mind. She demanded explanation. He groaned, looked her in the eye, "We're too young. It's pointless."

"How can a baby that's ours be pointless?"

That's not what he meant. That's what he said. He wasn't ready, that's what he meant. Well she was. He was sorry, still not ready. She said staying was pointless now. He said she was overreacting. She left. He let her go. Pointless to make her stay, if he couldn't make her happy.

…

…

…

It was instinct to hate the thing that hurt. He didn't want to hate Carly for leaving, but he sometimes did when he missed her laugh or literally started talking to her before realizing she wasn't next to him. He hated himself, but sometimes he needed something warm to hold onto. Someone said that life came down to one of two things, sex or money. It was sex for him, had been since he was fifteen (yeah) and he didn't know how to survive the crappy stuff without sharing himself with someone.

He wanted no one else but Carly, though.

…

…

…

It was legitimately the worst summer of their lives. He couldn't sleep without her skin under his hand. She hated rolling over to find space in the bed next to her—no mountain of Gibby keeping away creepy things in dark corners. She wasn't afraid, just felt safer with him.

Daylight hours were even worse, no one to laugh with, no one to finish her fries. Staying apart was hell. She admitted it first, with a daisy and a hopeful smile. He admitted it the most with kisses and an early lunch break to thank her properly for the daisy.


	9. Chapter 9

Gibby slammed the phone down, picked it up, threw it through a window. He collapsed on the couch. Carly knelt there, all question marks and knitted eyebrows. With his face in his hands, he explained. His baby sister was in the hospital. They said her heart wasn't strong. He couldn't go. Mid-terms. That internship. Work. No money for the plane ticket back to Washington. Nothing he could do but sit at the incubator anyway.

And she might not even make it to the morning.

An angry and broken Gibby needed someone strong, but Carly never felt so helpless and weak.

…

…

…

The sky looked sad. On the way, Spencer said it was the appropriate weather for these things. Carly didn't think so. She would have appreciated some sunshine, some unexpected wildflowers around the bend in the road; something nice, life affirming. She found Gibby with his brother—Gup was getting _tall_. Twelve already? No way. His mom was as expected, but glad to see them, even Spencer.

The coffin was tiny. Heartbreaking. The stone read Baby Grace Gibson.

Thunder in the distance, a flash, rain; Gibby draped a heavy arm around Carly's shoulders, whispered to the sleeping stone lamb, "Bye, Sis."

…

…

…

He loved every inch of Carly, but he loved her lips the most. Whenever he needed something to hold onto, his lips held hers eagerly and she let him in, in every single way he could be, let him disappear into her. Then came the softly spoken words riding on her breath through those lips, the comforts, the promises, the things that made his back tingle and his breath catch.

No matter how many times she told him, it always felt like the first time, felt like it couldn't be real because she was too wonderful.

She loved him back.

…

…

…

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him. She was taking a shower. He knew she would be—like clockwork. He pulled the rubbery spider from his pocket. It was hairy and as big as his face, and so real looking it'd freaked him out on the store shelf. He slipped into the bathroom. Smothering laughter, he lowered the spider over the curtain rod and let it dangle by fishing wire. He didn't have to wait long.

She screamed. Then she was naked, slippery in his arms. He laughed, carried her out to the bed, "Gotcha!"

…

…

…

Sam's newest boyfriend knew a guy who could get the show a fully trained monkey. His name was Oscar. He was sweet and so was Gibby. So it was surprising when they didn't get along.

At first, no one believed Gibby that Oscar had it out for him. A hidden camera proved it, got some hilarious footage for the show at the same time. Oscar was too popular to let go, even if Gibby might be scarred by the monkey's ruthlessness.

The monkey's or _Sam's_? Oscar didn't _buy_ that thing _himself_!

It was just a _little_ blow torch, Sam defended.

…

…

…

Why? Gibby asked, What did I do?

Nothing! Whoa, this was harder than she thought. But she'd made her decision. There was a big world out there with a lot of people in it and sometimes, if Carly was brutally honest with herself, she wanted to see it. Not that Gibby wasn't a blast. Not that she wasn't perfectly happy.

Why go, then?

She was afraid of thirty years from now, when she looked back… She didn't want any regrets. Just for a year, she promised. He gave a forced smile, nodded.

It lasted six months.

"God, I missed you!"

…

…

…

Carly ditched her carry-on to gain speed, met Gibby air-born, thank god he didn't fall down. She wrapped all her limbs around him. People in the airport were staring. Let them. This was a miracle, oughta be witnessed. The miracle of Carl Shay seeing the world and _still choosing_ _Gibby_. He'd had himself convinced she'd prefer New York City and Italian underwear models. But now, her lips—God, her _lips_—were on his. Home.

Sam snorted nearby, took a picture on her phone. Not for devious reasons. She just thought it'd be nice for them to have the moment recorded.

…

…

…

He was graduating. It was time to pick a city and find a job. She could do the show from anywhere, where did they want to live? Seattle was their home, dripping and familiar. They'd been away long enough.

Apartment hunting, the stress and competition, brought out the worst in her but landed them with a sweet deal, space for her to do the show in, and extra room for "an office or whatever." He grinned, asked her to please be patient with the "or whatever" part. Other stuff would come before that, anyway.

"Want you to myself for awhile."

…

…

…

Gibby was nervous before his interview. Carly rubbed his shoulders, straightened his shirt.

"You're exactly what they need. They'll see that," she kissed him on the cheek, rubbed off the lip-gloss left behind. He went in. Carly waited at the zebra exhibit, couldn't help but laugh when they bleated, wondered if they were white with black stripes or black with white stripes. Gibby would know. That was why he was perfect for this job.

He was the vet they were looking for. Seattle Zoo hired him. They had an awesome apartment, time still to do the show. Everything was perfect.

…

…

…

…Patty-cake Patty-cake: the elaborate hand games never got boring. They were the _only_ couple in Seattle who could do fifteen different routines flawlessly, one after the other, super-fast...

…or word-games. The refrigerator kept Scrabble scores on the front, not just pictures….

…or planning iCarly together…

…or pillow talk…

…TV just wasn't a major past-time. Wasn't like they didn't have cable (they were actually wasting money paying for it) and it wasn't like they didn't try to get sucked into the same shows all their friends wanted to talk about. It was just easier to get distracted by their own things.


	10. Chapter 10

For a heavy man he was a light sleeper. Carly couldn't lift her slight frame from the mattress without waking him. She was considerate enough never to get up when she could help it. But their day wasn't synced. Either they fell asleep together or woke together, it couldn't happen both ways in one night. Work came too early for her, kept him too late. When he came home, he lowered his bulk onto their creaky bed, cuddled up to her. Hours later, she woke him getting up, kissed him back to sleep every time, like sleeping beauty in reverse.

…

…

…

She'd always liked the piano scene in _Pretty Woman_, the way the notes jarred when he sat her on the keys, reached under her robe… Something similar was a frequent daydream of hers. She'd never ever told anyone—personal, you know? But the forward motion of talking to him for hours on end about nothing and everything, it just sort of slipped out.

They didn't have a piano. Gibby swore he bought one because he wanted to learn how to play it. The fact that jarred notes was the only music he ever played was no one's business but theirs.

…

…

…

Never went for the tomboys. Never did it for him. Felt like he was flirting with his brother or something. Tomboys never went for him either. They were two worlds coexisting, never mixing or tangling.

So it was a weird day when Gibby kissed Sam.

It only happened _once_—it was _nothing_, a friendship kiss. They were drunk, she was upset., he confessed in the same day. Couldn't _not_ tell her the most interesting thing that'd happened that day.

Shocked, not mad. Hurt? Sam's a _tomboy_. Tomboys had _zero_ effect but crying girls were his weakness. S'long as Freddie apologized…

…

…

…

It was still new, the glint on her third finger. It caught everyone's eye, made them stop, made them shout, "WHOA! Where'd'ya get that?"

Alone, in private, Sam let her try it on for a second, just to see what it was like. Carly flashed it around, pretended it was hers, from Gibby. College was over, they had jobs; so maybe he'd ask soon. Hopefully.

"You're lucky Sam," Carly said wistfully, giving it back. Sam jammed it back on her finger, shrugged.

"Neh, he's a nub," but she had a glint in her eye.

Carly was thrilled for them both.

…

…

…

Freddie and Sam glided across the ballroom floor, arguing in whispers through smiles. He wasn't done being mad about her silly vows.

A sparkling glass of Champaign filled Carly's vision and then a tuxedoed Gibby was in the chair next to her. Glasses clinked. "To Frenemies, I guess."

Carly toasted, took a sip. He laughed, shook his head. "Can't get over those vows."

"It's Sam, she was never going to spill her heart in front of a crowd."

"I could do it, easy."

"Well, me too."

"Good—you know, cool…"

He cleared his throat. She smiled shyly into her Champaign.

…

…

…

Spencer had a present for the newlyweds—and a less public but duplicate present for the best man and bridesmaid. Unconventional, but Spencer never was everything else but that.

Snow globes of Seattle. There was a prominent fire escape in theirs, a grassy playground hill in the center of the other. He said they were called Lightning Strikes Twice.

"Love so strong is supposed to be rare in the young," he said to them all in private. "Take it from a bachelor in his forties. You don't know how lucky you guys are to have found each other so early."

…

…

…

She'd forced three words out of him prematurely. She waited for the bigger four with baited breath. Sometimes she thought he was working up to say it—surprises, fancy dinner dates, flowers—but he didn't. She wasn't worried, knew he would ask, some day. Whenever she felt herself getting impatient or fed up, she imagined how wonderful it'd be, getting surprised by the question. It sent thrills down to her toes. She daydreamed about it often.

Maybe he'd get down on one knee, maybe in front of everyone they knew…she didn't care how, really, she just wanted to say yes.

…

…

…

Mystic Mountain; a day of fun.

The Demonator: the fastest, scariest rollercoaster. Carly was nervous as their cart hiked up the steep incline. Gibby was shirtless.

"We're gonna die."

"Hey, Carly," he said, they were seconds from cresting the hill. "I want you to marry me. In case we die, just know that."

Then they were falling—fast. Where was the sky? The ground? Their stomachs? She didn't know, but through it all Gibby was right there next to her. Couldn't have asked for a better reason to say yes.

He pretended to get her ring from a quarter machine.

…

…

...

Some tears, some heavenly praises, some secrets so deep they didn't have words, but words weren't needed. A lot of ecstatic laughter, a lot of new plans, a lot of phone calls that needed to be made to everyone they knew. They'd do that later...

Right now there was no one else alive, no where else they needed to be, nothing else they'd rather do. Tangled in each other.

Sighing over her skin, lost in her lips.

Cuddling into her mountain of a man, safe, warm.

An entire day in bed, wearing nothing but her new ring and Gibby kisses.

…

…

…

Peculiar Kid and Sam's friend

Shirtless dork and iCarly-Carly

The big guy and the hot girl

The other kid on the show and the brunette

Shirtless potato and Carly-from-iCarly

The hostess and the Mostess

Weirdo and Webshow

_Doying_! and Lucky Scutter

Crazy chick and Ew, Why Him?

Beauty and the Feast

Chubs and Control-freak

The Gibbies and the Legs

Miss Sass and Ya, Big Ass

The Best Man and the Bridesmaid

People could call them what they wanted, they didn't care. They called themselves Cibby when they thought no one could hear. They were happy. They were Carls and Gibbeh.

...

**We are members of **

**~The CABAL~**

**aussiemma, axel100, BaalRules, BoxOfTrinkets, boxofpiglets, Champagne Scene, Coyote Laughs, Deviocity, hidden-in-the-pictures, ItalianBabexo8, iCabal, iCarlyangst, iLuvNathanKrEsS, JamesTheGreater, KeyLimePie14, KingxLeon21, Myjumpingsocks, ober22, pairababes, pearlbutton328, Pieequals36, pigwiz, PsychoticAppleSauce, Tech-Man, The Earl of Sandwich, twowritehands, Virgoleo23, Waffles Of Doom, xXACCEBXx**


End file.
